The forest was too quiet.
Lyra's boots pressed lightly into the damp earth, but even her careful steps made more noise than the wind. The air was thick with the scent of pine and decay, and the silence around her clung to her skin like mist. Every rustle of leaves, every creak of a branch above made her heart race.
She knew she shouldn't be here. Not in these woods. Not this close to Ravenguard territory.
But hunger made people reckless.
For two days, she had survived on stale protein bars and a half-empty bottle of water scavenged from an overturned camper's backpack. Her lips were cracked, her muscles sore. Her coat torn, muddy, and barely warm offered little defense against the bite of the evening cold. She hadn't seen another human or wolf for days, and that was exactly how she wanted it.
Rogues didn't get second chances. She knew that better than anyone.
And still… she had wandered too far.
A broken twig snapped behind her.
She spun, heart slamming against her ribs, eyes scanning the dense undergrowth. Nothing. Just the trees. Still and watching. Her instincts screamed, but her legs remained rooted.
Then too late she heard it: the low growl. Not from behind. From above.
She barely looked up before the weight of a body dropped from a tree and crashed into her.
They tumbled to the ground. She fought, fists swinging, teeth gritted. Her elbow caught someone's jaw with a satisfying crack. But the figure didn't even flinch. A second body lunged in from the side, pinning her arms down. A boot pressed against her calf. Then another hand gripped her jaw, forcing her to look up.
Her heart stopped.
The man towering over her wasn't just any wolf. He reeked of authority, dominance, and danger.
Alpha.
His eyes were an unnatural shade of steel-gray, glowing faintly in the dying light. His dark hair was swept back, wet from sweat or rain. His jaw was tight, clenched like he was resisting the urge to snap her neck.
"You have exactly five seconds to tell me why you're trespassing," he growled, voice low, lethal, and cold as ice.
She spat blood to the side and glared. "Do I look like I'm on a tour?"
The Alpha's nostrils flared. His men stiffened, clearly waiting for the order to finish her. But the Alpha didn't move. He just stared.
Something flickered in his eyes. Not recognition. Curiosity? No control.
He was calculating.
"You're not Ravenguard," he said finally. "You smell like… rogue."
Lyra tried to twist away, but the pressure on her arms only grew stronger.
"I'm not here to start trouble," she snapped. "I'm just passing through."
"This isn't a border you pass through," the Alpha said sharply. "This is warline territory. Anyone who crosses without permission is a threat."
"And I'm supposed to know how?" she bit out. "You think rogues have maps and territory markers?"
The Alpha crouched in front of her, their faces inches apart. "Rogues don't last long in my woods."
His voice was calm now. Controlled. Even. That scared her more than the growl.
"I'm not a threat to your pack," she said more quietly, chest rising with effort. "I'm just trying to stay alive."
He studied her for a moment longer, then stood. With a flick of his hand, the weight pinning her disappeared. She gasped and rolled onto her knees, coughing into her sleeve.
One of the wolves, a blond male with a twisted scar along his cheek growled. "Alpha, we should kill her. She's already seen too much."
"No," the Alpha said. "Take her to the holding quarters. I'll deal with her later."
The blond looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't. None of them did. The Alpha's word was law.
Two wolves grabbed her arms and yanked her to her feet. She tried to walk, but the trembling in her legs betrayed her. As they half-dragged her through the undergrowth, she stole one last glance over her shoulder.
The Alpha stood where they left him, watching her with that same cold intensity, arms crossed and jaw tight.
The holding quarters were worse than she imagined.
Cold concrete walls. No windows. A locked steel door with no view of the outside. The cell smelled of damp earth and old blood. A thin blanket was tossed into one corner along with a metal bucket she didn't want to think about. No food. No water. Just silence.
Lyra sat with her back against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest.
She had no idea what was coming. But she had seen the Alpha's face. And it wasn't mercy she saw in his eyes, it was calculation.
He didn't spare her because he believed her.
He spared her because he was planning something.
And that was worse.
The door opened hours later. She didn't know how much time had passed and there was no light to track it. Her stomach was a knot of hunger and dread.
Footsteps.
Then the unmistakable presence of authority filled the room before she even looked up.
The Alpha.
He stepped inside, alone, and shut the door behind him.
She stood slowly, back stiff and jaw set. If he was here to kill her, she'd face him standing.
He didn't speak at first. Just observed her with those unreadable eyes.
"You're not like most rogues I've seen," he said finally. "You didn't beg."
"I don't beg."
His lips curved into a humorless smile. "You're not packed. You have no protection. No rank. Nothing. Yet you're still standing there like you're someone."
"I am someone."
That made something shift in his expression. Not amusement. Not scornful. Something darker.
He walked toward her, stopping only when there was barely an inch between them.
"What's your name?"
She hesitated. "Lyra."
"Lyra what?"
"I don't have a last name anymore."
He tilted his head. "Everyone comes from somewhere."
"Not anymore."
Silence hung between them.
Then he said, "I'm Alpha Alaric Draven. Ravenguard territory belongs to me. And by stepping into it, you've placed your life in my hands."
"Then why didn't you kill me?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small silver dagger. Her muscles tensed. But he didn't lift it.
He just said, "There's a bond older than fated mates. One forged by blood. Not magic. Not prophecy. Just a decision."
Lyra frowned. "What are you talking about?"
His eyes narrowed. "A Bloodbond. A choice. An act. A sentence."
She swallowed hard. "You're not thinking of"
"You have no pack. No allies. No name. But you survived in my woods. You have fire. And that makes you valuable."
"To you?"
"To Ravenguard."
His next words came low and dangerous.
"I'm offering you protection. Not kindness. In
return, you'll submit to a Bloodbond."
Lyra's heart thundered.
"I don't want your bond," she hissed.
He took a step closer. "You don't get a choice."